


Letters

by mattaretto



Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Death, Gen, Heavy Angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-18
Updated: 2019-02-18
Packaged: 2019-10-31 06:10:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,031
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17843924
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mattaretto/pseuds/mattaretto
Summary: Bucky has a hard time coping after the reader’s death. He takes his therapist’s suggestions and writes down his feelings.





	Letters

He wasn't sure what exactly to do, how to cope. He was never good with feelings, always ran when things got too emotional. He would later come to regret this, but for now, he had to get everything off his chest. He did it the only way he knew how, by writing it all out. 

_ My dearest Y/N,  _

_ I miss you dearly, and not a day goes by where I don't think about you. I miss how your smile would reach your eyes, and even if you kept yourself from doing so it was still evident in your eyes. I crave our late night talks when neither of us could sleep, or how you would simply read aloud whatever book it was that you were reading at the time, as my head rested on your lap. I hate to admit it, but I miss the way you would constantly tease me about silly things I had done in the past.  _

_ I'm not sure what to do with myself now that you're gone. No one is entirely sure what to with themselves. Everyone has wrapped themselves up in work, or in training. None of us seemed to realize what your presence had meant around here. You were always so happy, saw the bright side of every situation. You've always been the optimistic one, something I wish I could be. We all need your optimism. It's not the same without you here. _

_ Your stupid little pranks were always annoying, but it's something we've all come to yearn for. The stupid flour in hair dryers, the random buckets of water above doors, salt mixed in with the sugar. Though we despised it while you were here, I know we all hope that one day a bucket of water will be resting on top of a door frame.  _

_ I keep getting memories of you, of us, of everyone interacting and being as normal as we can all be. I remember the camping trip we all took, and you fed the wildlife one night. The next morning the campsite was teaming with animals, and everyone knew that it had been you right away. Do you remember the road trip we took one summer? We visited every state and every national park. We loaded your Jeep and just drove until we got somewhere. How I wish we could do that just one more time.  _

_ Your stuff still sits in your room. No one has gone in it, I don't think anyone could bear the pain of going in it. I'm sure a layer of dust covers everything at this point, something you would never allow. Perhaps I'll go in and dust it, keep it clean how you always liked. Your Jeep is in the garage, for a while it sat unused, but it's the only thing I have left of you, so now I drive it whenever I can. The daisy chain you made still hangs from the mirror, and it makes it seem as if a hippie drives the vehicle, but I can't bring myself to remove it. I can't bring myself to remove a part of you.  _

_ I find myself awake a lot more at night, I can't sleep without you beside me. I'd grown to find comfort in the way you would spread out on the bed, half of your body lying on top of mine. The weight of your body had become something of a security blanket for me. The little time I do sleep, nightmares haunt me and I find myself waking within minutes of falling asleep.  _

_ Most nights I end up going for a drive, usually in your Jeep. Without realizing I always end up at your favorite places. The waitresses at the diner you love are getting used to seeing me come in during the ungodly hours of the morning, as you would have put it, with bags under my eyes. I find myself most often at the park, sitting on one of the benches and watching the nightlife.  _

_ I get so angry sometimes. Not at you, never at you. I get angry with myself, I should have done better. I should have paid more attention. I should have protected you. There are so many things I should have done that I never did. One of the things I regret most is never telling you how I feel, it's far too late for that now and I'll never know how you feel. But, God, I loved you so much. I love you so much and you'll never know. Or maybe you do know, maybe I had not been as subtle as I thought.  _

_ Why did you have to leave us? Why did you have to tear us apart? Why had you done everything you did? No one is mad at you, most of us have forgiven you, but we all want to know why. I'd beg for you to come back to me, but I know it's too late for that, though sometimes I find myself begging anyway. Beginning to an unforgiving God, to the night sky praying that you'll be brought back to us, hoping that wherever you are you can hear us. _

_ Yours truly, _

_ Bucky.' _

It wasn't until after he had finished he realized he was crying. The tear-stained sitting on the desk, some of the ink running along the paper with the water that had stained them. He folded it neatly and put it in an envelope, letting it rest in the middle of his desk. 

Several days later, he stood with everyone as your casket was lowered into the ground. He, Steve, Sam, Clint, Thor, and T'Challa had carried your casket during the service, and even after all he's been through, it was the hardest thing he ever had to do. He stood there for a while, staring down into the six-foot hole. Before they could begin shoveling in the dirt, he pulled the sealed envelope from the inside of his suit pocket, dropping it in with your casket. 

He hadn't spoken in weeks, not since the incident, but he managed to utter five words, his voice broken and raspy, "Please, come back to me." 


End file.
